Absolution
by Closet Fanfic Fan
Summary: What right do you have to avenge somebody's death.... if they don't want it to be avenged?


**ABSOLUTION**

If there were a house called Inertia, this would be it. Sitting inside it is a man named Adam. You wouldn't be able to tell from looking at him that he was handsome. Thin and worn, the only thing that looks alive about him are his eyes - hollow and filled with enough hurt to make the whole world scream. He sits in his darkened living room wearing a pair of faded jeans and a stained singlet, unable to quite control the tremor in his right leg. Beside him is an empty liquor bottle and an empty bottle of pills. The television set rattles in a blizzard of snow; he pays no attention to it.  
  
He picks up a framed photograph, looks at it. It's a picture of a man and woman. The man is a healthier, happier Adam. The woman's face we cannot yet see.  
  
_I've decided that loneliness is realising that you're going to die . . . and that nobody else in the world knows or cares. I went to bed last night happy that I'd finally made this decision . . . but when I woke up this morning, I was instantly so sick with dread that I almost couldn't even sit up. In just the past week I've used up the rest of my final prescription. I'm beginning to think that my body and mind have decided to rebel against my soul . . . one final desperate battle for self-preservation. Even now, with barely an hour to go, it's all I can do to remind myself that I'm doing this for a reason. I'll be seeing her again, soon.  
_  
It feels to Adam as though time is stretching out into forever. He knows his weakness, his insignificance, his petty little folly. He knows that he will expiate himself of them tonight . . . but at the same time, they're the only things that he has.  
  
He thinks of a woman so lovely and wise and wonderful that it seemed she could be able to throw her head back into the night sky and catch the stars in her hair. He remembers lying with her, their limbs intertwined together. When they were together, it felt as though their connection negated all the wrongs and injustice of the world.  
  
And then _he_ came along and took it all away and the dream ended.  
  
Images burst through his mind, quick and loud as fire crackers. He sees the woman, hand outstretched, pleading . . . her eyes filled with fear . . . a shadowy figure seeming to throw her down onto a bed . . .  
  
_No!_ He forces the images away.  
  
It all happened so quickly . . . he'd do anything to wind the clock back a year and save her. He didn't mean for it to end like this and since then he's been running scared, too afraid to stop in any one place for too long in case his past catches up with him.  
  
He only decided out of desperation that it would end tonight. He's been toying with the idea ever since Rachel stopped breathing . . . but now it's time to make a wound big enough for him to exit through. He can't live like this anymore.  
  
He reaches across the table . . . and picks up a revolver. Loads it. His eyes leak tears, as though they're squeezing out of him by osmosis. He slowly closes them.  
  
He sees himself in Rachel's arms in a bright and beautiful place. She smiles up at him, he remains lost in the magic of her eyes.  
  
"I forgive you," she tells him, drawing him close to her. "And I was wrong about everything. This is what's meant to be."  
  
_"Sure it's gonna happen that way."_  
  
Startled, he opens his eyes again. And his heart almost stops beating.  
  
Although Adam knows how impossible it is, standing in the doorway is the man who destroyed his life. His skin is pallid and his eyes burn like coals. His smile is little more than a twisted grimace, bright with malice.  
  
"You really think it's gonna be that easy, Adam?"  
  
A conversation echoes through Adam's mind.  
  
_"Rachel, honey, I'm begging you . . ."  
  
"Please, stop . . ."  
  
"You can't do this!!"  
  
"You think this is easy for me!?"  
  
"Whatever it is I've done, I'll make it up to you. I swear!"  
  
"It's not anything you've done . . ."_  
  
_"Then what is it!?"  
  
"I love him!! I love Michael."_  
  
She spoke the name as through it were something sacred . . . And now here he is, bringing the fire and storm with him. Mind dulled with shock, Adam thinks dazedly about the fact that even though something so incredibly intimate passed between them a year ago, this is the first time he's ever looked Michael properly in the face.  
  
Perhaps once it was a kind face. Handsome, certainly, even though it's so, so different to his. But now it's cruel and stony. Adam doesn't have to ask what Michael is here to do; it's etched across the other man's burning soul. The irony of the situation is not lost on Adam. If it wasn't all so fucking tragic, he'd laugh.  
  
He doesn't laugh, though. Instead, he gestures with the revolver. "Another minute and the job would have been already done."  
  
Michael steps forward and takes the revolver from Adam's hand. He raises it . . . and cracks Adam across the face with it. The force knocks his chair to the floor and he's barely had time to register the fact that the cartilage in his nose has shattered before Michael is upon him.  
  
"With what you've done, you sad, jealous fuck . . . don't you _dare_ think you get to decide how this ends."  
  
The two men are a breath apart. A vision jumps between them.  
  
_Michael saw the unfamiliar car parked outside his house and knew it could only be one person. Then he heard a gunshot. Already he was vaulting the front gate and charging through the door . . . and what he saw in the bedroom he and Rachel shared for the best week of his life was something he carried with him into the grave and back._  
  
Adam looks up at him, blood trickling thinly out of his broken nose, and oozing at the corner of his broken lip. "I loved her," he mumbles, not caring how ridiculous the words sound.  
  
"If you love something," Michael snarls, "you don't kill it."  
  
A dead smile flickers at Adam's lips. "Once upon a time, I'd have agreed with you completely."  
  
Something gleams in Michael's eyes . . . is it tears? "You didn't have to hurt her. Why could you just let her go?"  
  
The smile falls from Adam's face. "Could _you_ have let her go?" Michael does not reply. Adam swallows and asks the question he's been wanting to since he first heard Michael's voice again. "Why did you come back?"  
  
Michael reaches under his jacket and pulls out a long knife. "To do everything to you I've been wanting to ever since we last saw one another. And you can forget all about an easy exit."  
  
He presses the blade against Adam's face. "This is for Rachel."  
  
And a voice freezes them both.  
  
_"You're right, Michael. It isn't gonna be this easy."_  
  
They both turn to look.  
  
A woman seemingly not of this world stands before them. A woman who means more than life and death, whose passing was nothing short of an Armageddon.  
  
Adam and Michael can only stare at her; entire worlds crumbling around them, every law suddenly immutable, the very air unstable.  
  
"How's this for harrowing hell?" she says quietly.  
  
Michael is already on his feet, stumbling towards her. Unable to believe. "Rachel?"  
  
Adam, still sprawled on the ground, can only echo the word. "Rachel?"  
  
Rachel looks at Michael, and something in her eyes stops him.  
  
Conflicting emotions war on her lovely face. "I've been waiting for you," she whispers. She reaches up as if to caress his face . . . but doesn't quite touch him. Her eyes drift over to Adam, and then back up to Michael. "What are you doing here, Michael?"  
  
He looks numbly down at the knife. Suddenly lost, uncertain. "I . . ."  
  
"You could find your way back here to kill him, but you couldn't find your way to me? And what then - you want make a murder into a gift, a bloody valentine to lay at my feet?"  
  
The two men stare at her. She sucks in an empty breath, her eyes cold with anger.  
  
"Alright, then. Let's talk about murder."  
  
And she gives them a gift of her own, another starburst of images and memories.  
  
_Rachel moves about Michael's house, the place she is already beginning to think of as home. She's in the bedroom, unpacking more of her clothes when she hears the door open. She smiles, thinking it's Michael.  
  
But as she hurries out into the hall, she sees Adam standing there, red- eyed and unshaven.  
  
"Get out of here," she tells him flatly, already taking a step backwards.  
  
He advances on her. "Not until you've heard me out."_  
  
_She flees back into the bedroom, tries to close the door. But he's too strong for her, bursting through it. Already thinking rape and murder and almost too terrified to move, she backs away. He's reaching into his jacket . . .  
  
. . . and he takes out a revolver, placing it against his own head. His eyes stream with tears and his voice is rendered almost incoherent with grief. "Look at what you've done to me!!"  
  
She stares at him, her heartbeat slowed almost to a stop. "Adam," she whispers, not quite daring to step towards him, "you don't want to do this. Just put the gun down and come out into the living room with me. We can talk about this . . ."  
  
His eyes blaze, half-mad. "Isn't this what you want? Me out of your life?"  
  
"I don't want you hurt!" she shouts back. "And that's all that would have happened if I'd stayed with you."  
  
"I came here to do this," he tells her. "That's how much I love you."_  
  
_She holds out her hand to him, afraid only for him. "Give me the gun, Adam."  
  
He shakes his head. "You did this, Rachel. You watch."  
  
"NO!!" she screams, lunging at him. He flails, one of his fists unintentionally shooting out and striking her across the face. She falls back onto the bed, dragging him down with her, still fighting to wrench the gun from him.  
  
The gun goes off, the shot ripping the air._  
  
_Rachel falls back against the bed, her mouth open in a silent cry. One hand reaches up, clutching at the air . . . a red rose blooming across her chest. Adam watches helplessly as the woman he loved and lost dies before his eyes.  
  
Then he looks up. Michael is standing frozen in the doorway, nothing but a blurry figure to Adam. The figure lurches forward. Adam raises the gun and fires . . .  
  
The world ends and spins into blackness._  
  
A year later, three people, two dead and one barely living are left to examine the pieces of their shattered history.  
  
Adam slowly rises to his feet, leaning against the table to support himself. Michael can only stare at him.  
  
"You went there to kill yourself?" He doesn't try to conceal the venom in his voice. "And after what you'd done, you walked away?"  
  
Adam only looks at Rachel. "I couldn't explain it if I tried," he says helplessly.  
  
"I'm not asking you to," she replies. "I'm asking you to really look at what you've done. You've pinned this all on a broken heart, and you've pinned the broken heart on me. How _dare_ you? Maybe you loved me once . . . but now you only love your pain."  
  
Michael steps beside Rachel, hefting the knife again. "Do you want to take the first cut?"  
  
Rachel turns to look up at Michael . . . and he's a little shocked to see the vehemence in her eyes. "And don't _you_ dare hand against him and say it's in my name. My death was mine - not yours. It's between him and me."  
  
Michael can only stare. Again, the universe tilts sideways. "But . . ."  
  
"I'm here," Rachel says quietly. "And that makes it complicated, doesn't it? It's easy to avenge someone when they can't act or speak for themselves. But the game of heroes and victims isn't always that straightforward."  
  
"I came all this way . . ."  
  
She nods. "I know. And this is what it took for me to bring you home."  
  
Rachel turns her attention to Adam. She sees the gun on the floor where it fell, then looks back into his face. She is grave and quiet. "You're not going to die tonight, Adam."  
  
She reaches down, as if to caress him . . . but instead, she seizes him and forces him to look at her. Her face is majestic and beautiful and terrifying all at once. He sees Hellfire in her eyes. "But one day you will. And when you do die, Adam, you'll see me again. Again you'll be faced everything you took from me – everything you destroyed. And this time, we'll be in a place without boundaries, where nothing will stand between us and death is a beginning, not an end."  
  
She lets him go, forcing him back. "Remember that," she says.  
  
With that, she gestures with her hand, beckoning to Michael. The world spins into shadows and Adam is left trembling and shaking, alone and already unable to tell whether he has dreamed all of this or not.  
  
In a place without a sun or moon, where time is of no consequence and the only constant is the grey sky slowly rolling overhead, a man and woman form a tableaux that could be titled 'Waiting For Absolution'. The man kneels on the ground, the woman stands a little separate, holding herself in her arms as if sheltering from a chill she should no longer be capable of feelings.  
  
A bare twisted tree juts like a curse against the skyline. Perched in one of its branches is a lone crow, watching the couple on the ground below.  
  
Finally, the man speaks; his voice both quiet and startling in the complete stillness of the air. "I'm sorry," he says.  
  
At first the woman does not respond. Finally, she turns her head and looks across at the man. In her lovely eyes we see the first hint of bewilderment. "What?" she asks, as if hoping she misheard.  
  
The man speaks again, his head still bowed, his eyes still lowered. Cold tears form in his eyes. "This isn't how I wanted our story to end. Not like this."  
  
She shakes her head faintly, not wanting to believe. Suddenly aware of the crow's piercing eyes boring into her. "It's not your fault."  
  
But the man is implacable, his own hungry ghost. "I failed to protect you." And then he looks up at her with the eyes of a drowning man reaching for salvation. "Forgive me."  
  
Waves of sadness break over the woman. She wants to reach out and take him into his arms and protect him from this . . . but that time has passed. "Please don't ask that of me," she whispers.  
  
He can only stare at her. And because he still doesn't understand, she knows she has to continue to speak.  
  
"I loved you so much that I could barely breathe. And when we were parted, I waited for you. I ignored the crow's warnings and believed that my love would summon you like a beacon, that you'd be able to stumble your way through the shadows and back into my arms."  
  
She pauses, tears shining in her own eyes. " The hate and anger you're feeling . . . I felt it too and you have to fight it. Don't let it win."  
  
But Michael isn't even looking at her. He's hunched over on the ground, barely registering her words. All he sees is her broken, bleeding body lying on a bloodstained bed. All he can think about are the nevers and maybes and unfinished sentences that make up the tragedy of their story.  
  
She sees him slipping away and because he means more than anything to her and she's already crossed space and time to fight for him, she continues the battle.  
  
She kneels down in front of him, grabbing his head in her hands much as she grabbed Adam's. But now there's no anger and hatred in her face . . . only desperation. "It's happened," she tells him, "it's over, it can't be changed. But I'm here. With you. Look at me. _Look at me!!_"  
  
He rises, tearing himself away from her – his movements clumsy. "Why can't it be changed!?" he screams, choking on his rage against a careless bastard God. "Oh God, Rachel . . . why did this have to happen to us?"  
  
She weeps softly, helplessly. "Michael . . . why can't you let it go?"  
  
He's frantic now. "Say you forgive me."  
  
"No . . ."  
  
"PLEASE!!"  
  
"_Why do you have to hear me say it!?!?!?"_  
  
He stares at her. Perhaps he's even trying to understand.  
  
"Perhaps every trial we withstood, every promise we made to each other, was leading up to this. Maybe it was meant to be, I don't know. One final test. And you don't even understand that you're failing it. If you really need me to tell you that I never stopped loving you and there's nothing to forgive . . ." She sweeps the hair out of her eyes, reaches a hand towards him. Her eyes plead with him. "The longer you stay in this place, the easier it is to lose yourself. We can leave. Come with me."  
  
He looks from her face down to her hand. And doesn't move to take it.  
  
She stares at him . . . knowing beyond a doubt that this isn't some spasm of cowardice, an understandable human shuddering at the precipice of infinity. There's only one thing holding him here, but it's something she knows she can't possibly fight . . . him.  
  
Still, she has to try one final time. So she say something she never dreamed she'd have to say to him, something so terrible she finds herself almost choking on the words. "Please don't make me go without you."  
  
He looks as though he barely even hears her. She wants to attack him, force him open and go into him so deeply that he'll never be able to disentangle himself from her ever again. But that's impossible. When she looks into his eyes, she only sees her own reflection looking back at her. He won't let anything else inside.  
  
She reaches up and kisses him . . . but knows in the depths of her soul that she might as well be kissing the empty air. He's right here in front of her and he's standing on the far side of a gaping black chasm and he's a million miles away, straining his fingers towards a woman that looks a lot like her. He doesn't even know that she has kissed him.  
  
"Goodbye," she whispers.  
  
And with that, she turns and walks away towards the open horizon. Unlike Lot's wife, or Orpheus, or Adam and Eve walking away from the Garden of Eden, she does not look back.  
  
The man stands there, a statue carved in the memory of flesh. The crow flaps from the tree to his shoulder and it feels to him as though its little claws digging lightly into his shoulder is the closest thing to human contact he's experienced in a thousand lifetimes.  
  
A sudden image flashes through his mind of a beautiful woman in white dancing with all the stars of Heaven seeming to burn in her lovely hair. The image comforts him. He feels he should reach towards it but doesn't quite know where to begin.  
  
In a place so near and yet so far away, another man is at a crossroads. A loaded gun sits on the table a hand's reach away and for an insane moment he envisions himself reaching for it and accepting its steel kiss . . . but then he remembers Rachel and the terrible promise he saw in her burning eyes.  
  
Outside his closed and shuttered house, a citadel of grief and inertia, a new day begins to break.

**THE END**


End file.
